


Hunger

by oyhumbug



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Songfic, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-28
Updated: 2009-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1452958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel's gone, and Buffy and Angelus find themselves drawn towards each other... whether they want to be or not. What will result from their shared and unwelcome feelings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted at fanfiction.net, LJ (oy_humbug2), and my own site (Delicious Infatuation).

**Hunger  
** **A One Shot**

It was worse than the usual desire or thirst. That he could manage; that he could handle, tame, satisfy. No, what he wanted, what he lusted after where the slayer was concerned was a totally, completely different matter, and it infuriated Angelus.  
  
She was just a girl – seventeen, insignificant, and, by nature and a shared sense of animosity, his mutual enemy. Just as he was supposed to kill her, she was supposed to kill him as well… once and for all, but neither murder was proving to be as easily done as said, as promised. Rather, she seemed to find other things to focus on, other enemies to lavish her hostility and hurt towards, and he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was jealous. He wanted her so entirely focused and obsessed with him that she could think of nothing else, see, hear, taste, smell, touch nothing else. Was that too much to ask? He thought not.  
  
After all, she saturated him, infused every single moment of his undead existence, and her constant presence both in his mind and elsewhere made him crave her even more. When he wasn’t stalking her, Angelus thought about following her; when he wasn’t watching her, he saw her figure anyway. She was there every single time he made a kill, taunting him, mocking him, souring his dinner, for no one was as appetizing as the petite blonde promised to be. Without ever having tasted her himself, he still knew that she was the only one who could satisfy his hunger. In fact, he was so confident that her skin, her blood would taste the sweetest of all, that the vampire found himself wondering if just one sip from her graceful, creamy neck wouldn’t temper his thirst for the rest of his existence. Not that he wouldn’t still kill, mind you, for he enjoyed the sport of the hunt, but he had the feeling his heart just wouldn’t be in the monotonous actions anymore at that point. Instead, they would be focused on other things, bigger things, grander things.  
  
Just imagining what it would be like to first lick and then sample the supple flesh of the slayer’s breast, her shoulder, her milky thigh, and Angelus found himself salivating at the very thought. It was late into the night, the sun about to begin its ascent into the sky once again in only a very few short hours. He had been wandering through one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries, subconsciously willing the high school student to be wandering there as well. She wasn’t, though, and, before he retired for the day, he wanted to see her, feel her, watch her for just a few seconds before he was forced to rest. With that thought in mind, he turned to leave the burial ground, his psyche fully trained upon the slayer while his back was exposed for the rest of the world to attack.  
  
And attack it did.  
  
Forced down to the ground by a great strength, Angelus landed elegantly whereas anyone else less of a demon would have risked injury and broken bones. Before he could roll over and take a defensive stand, he felt a pair of claws, steel like in their sheer strength, rip down the center of his back, piercing through both his leather duster and the silk shirt he wore underneath only to find purchase upon his hardened, chilled by death skin. Pushing the wild animal off, he scorned in derision.  
  
A werewolf.  
  
They were a lowly creature as far as he was concerned. Only showing their true demonic side when there was a full moon, they lived the rest of their lives in total obscurity, some of them even embracing their still partial human natures. They weren’t void of compassion as he was, and, often, they sparked such empathetic sentiments in the very people they hunted and fed off of three days a month. It was all very disgusting to the vampire, a waste of supernatural force and evil.  
  
Backhanding the rapid dog, he knocked it out with one single slap, the pitiful creature whimpering before it finally ceased to move. It wasn’t dead, however. Though a recently turned werewolf, still weak and unsure of its newfound skills, it would have taken more than one angry swipe of his hand to kill it. But he didn’t squander the energy or the time. Rather, he simply shed his destroyed clothes and walked out of the cemetery with only his leather pants and boots remaining on his form. After all, he still had to stop by Buffy’s house, and the sun would be up soon.  
  
However, it startled Angelus just how distracted he had been that evening. Out in the open the way he had been wandering, his hardened but not impenetrable form open to assault the way it had been had been careless on his part, and all because of one insignificant, little girl. But she was a girl, nonetheless, that he wanted more than any other human… or vampire, for that matter, than he had ever encountered in his more than 240 years. But it was time that he quit messing around. If he wanted the slayer, then he would have her before thoughts and fantasies of having her, possessing her cost him everything.

_I would die for you_  
I would die for you  
I’ve been dying just to  
Feel you by my side  
To know that you’re mine

She was dreaming. Again. Every night since the night that Angelus returned and Angel left her for good, Buffy dreamed of the monster that had replaced the man, and, just like every other night, she was torn by the sentiments her dreams conjured up inside of her heart. It was all rather confusing, on a psychological level, on an emotional one, but physically, she knew exactly what she was feeling.  
  
Desire.  
  
Want.  
  
Hunger.  
  
It was insane, illogical. The demon that was now in full possession of Angel’s body hated her, and he was an insult to the soul she had fallen in love with, a soul Angelus no longer was in control of, a fact she knew for certain he was not only content with but also pleased about. He not only mocked the relationship that she had shared with her former boyfriend, but he took advantage of it, used it, exploited it to his own sick amusement. He ridiculed the fact that, physically, she had given herself, her innocence, her virginity to his corporeal form, and he taunted her about still wanting to come back for more.  
  
And, despite the fact that Buffy wished with all her heart that she could instantly dismiss such an idea, she couldn’t. Whether it was the fact that Angelus looked exactly like Angel, save for his lifeless eyes, or some insane desire or need on her part to attempt to reach the man inside of the demon again with the love she knew only she could give, the slayer wasn’t sure. Although she had heard of the savior complex women could sometimes get where the men in their lives was concerned, she had always believed herself to be above such an inept, foolish notion. While she could save someone’s life, she couldn’t protect their sanity or the safety of their heart, and there was no way that being with her could ever restore Angel’s soul… especially when it was being with her that had stripped him of it in the first place.  
  
So, that left her with the distinct impression that her attraction towards Angelus was nothing more than sexual heat, and the realization sickened her. She was supposed to kill him, and a part of her even wanted to. Despite the fact that the blame for her boyfriend’s sudden transformation back into his previous demon form was spread onto several parties, herself included, Buffy couldn’t help but lump that hatred onto the soulless vampire he now was, and that hatred made her want to wipe his sick, twisted, smug smile off the face of the earth for good. But, as it was always said, there was such a fine line between love and hate, and that maxim was only compounded by the fact that the person whom she hated most in the world shared his visage with the man she loved the most.  
  
Tossing and turning, the sheets tangling around and between her twisting, sweating body, the seventeen year old dreamed on. She fantasized. She was with Angelus – sleeping with him, making love to him, fucking him, really she couldn’t be sure how to describe their actions, and, even though her mind and heart were being crushed by both guilt and despair, she was enjoying herself anyway.  
  
Silent tears streamed down her face, but, in her unconscious state, Buffy wasn’t sure who she was crying for. Perhaps it was for herself, maybe it was for Angel, or, quite possibly, the tears were meant for Angelus himself, for, regardless of her abhorrence towards him, she was still sad for him, too, sad for what he was and for what he wasn’t. Even if he didn’t miss his soul, she missed it for him. And, regardless of her sadness, even through the tears, the slayer also knew that she physically craved the demon, and that want only seemed to get stronger each and every day.

_I will cry for you_  
I will cry for you  
I will wash away your  
Pain with all my tears  
And drown your fear

Waking up, Buffy immediately dropped to the floor beside her bed, perfectly aware that she still had several hours before school but unconcerned about going back to sleep. Even if she wanted to rest some more, it would have been impossible. The images from her dreams were still upon her, still assaulting her, and she needed absolution for her desires, for her sick, twisted, disgusting thoughts.  
  
On her knees, she reached for a cross, any cross that lay dangling from the jewelry stand, and, clutching the religious symbol so tightly that it cut itself into the tender flesh of her palm, she prayed. But she didn’t feel the pain. In a voice that was her own but which sounded nothing like her usual tone, she started to beseech anyone, anything that might have been listening to her entreaties, rocking her still sobbing, terrified form back and forth, almost as though she was in a trance.  
  
Over and over again, she apologized, prayed, begged for help, guidance, absolution. She prayed for herself, seeking forgiveness for her sinful, betraying thoughts, and she prayed for Angel. He had only been gone for a few days, a couple of weeks… really, she wasn’t sure at that point. Time didn’t seem to pass the same way that it once had, and, even if the sun and moon were still just as dependable as they once were, she no longer was. The formerly competent slayer now existed under a spell of pain and passion, unsure of anything but those two things. Nevertheless, though, realistically, she knew that the man she loved had only just left her, to be replaced by a monster that looked exactly like him, and her dreams had been both an affront and an insult to his memory, their memory, and what they had meant to each other. So, she prayed for his soul’s forgiveness… wherever it may be.  
  
But, most of all, she prayed because of what she was willing to do to be with Angelus, to somehow conquer and break him enough to make his sexual desire greater than that of his thirst. After waking suddenly from her oh so vivid dreams, Buffy had been aware of the fact that she was willing to now die to set Angel free from Angelus, to be with the demon in order to, once again, find the man, and, because of this willingness, she would be capable of risking the entire world and everyone left remaining in it that she cared about all for her own selfish, satisfying desires.  
  
And the worst part was that she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the Hellmouth, about her mother, about Giles, and Willow, and Xander; she didn’t care about the fate of humanity. All she cared about was fulfilling the hunger that was slowly yet deliberating eating its way through her entire form - body, mind, and soul, and, for that, too, she prayed.  
  
It was only after the sun had come up and she herself and stood up that Buffy looked down into her hands and noticed exactly what cross she had been holding.  
  
Angel’s.

_I will pray for you_  
I will pray for you  
I will sell my soul for  
Something pure and true  
Someone like you

He wasn’t sure who he belonged to anymore. Was he still his own demon, free to reign over his own will, or was he now just a puppet to the slayer, to his need to possess the petite yet powerful blonde? Angelus wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that he was far past the point of losing the grip upon his control. It had snapped days ago, perhaps even weeks.  
  
He was wandering again, too lost in his own thoughts, his own private, passionate hell, to really socialize properly. While the vampire could tell that those closest to him were aware of the fact that he was going through something, he was positive that they wouldn’t be able to guess what. Sure, Spike taunted him about the games he was playing with the slayer, but his knowledge of Angelus was too rich and vivid to ever doubt his potency. However, he himself was now full of doubt.  
  
Earlier that evening, he had been feeding. In a dark alley by The Bronze, he had found a delectable high school student wandering all about on her lonesome. The meal, however, had proven to be easy come, easy go, for halfway through drinking the young blonde dry – they were always blonde these days – Angelus saw Buffy’s form in his arms instead of the unknown stranger’s, and he dropped her instantly, momentarily too distracted to finish what he had started. While he didn’t stick around to see for himself, he knew that the girl would end up surviving… just as the four other women he had attacked that same night would as well.  
  
They had all been blonde, young, pretty, and half way through draining them of their life’s blood, he had been blessed… cursed – he wasn’t sure what - with visions of the only pretty, young blonde that he wanted to feed from, and, just like the first girl, he had dropped them unceremoniously in the dark, shadowed alleys, too. Although he hadn’t killed one single person, the vampire had drank his fill of blood, so he had quit hunting for the evening, and, instead, gone out to track down, meet with, and then speak to his minions.  
  
However, just as he was about to give them their directions for the evening, various means and ways that they could assist him in terrorizing the slayer, he had heard her voice in his head. The tone of her voice made him want to cut her throat out with his bare hands; the notes behind it made him want to hear her moan out his name in pleasure. The words she spoke, words meant for her stupid, beloved Angel, made him want to lose his soul over and over again; they made him want to hear her say them to him instead.  
  
 _You just left.  
  
_ _Angel, there must be some part of you inside that still remembers who you are._

_I-I don’t understand. Was it m-me? Was I not good?_

_Angel! I love you._

However, with her whispering sweet nothings into his ear, he couldn’t tell his subordinates to terrorize her and her irrelevant, trifling friends. While mentally, Angelus excused his actions by claiming that he wanted the sole pleasure of driving her mad with insanity, underneath the self delusion and the denial, he knew the truth. Rather than wanting to break her with violence, he wanted to fracture her with pleasure, with obsession. He wanted her to want him, to think of him, to see him, to hear him, to touch him, to taste him just as much if not more than he wanted her, thought of her, saw her, heard her, touched her, tasted her.

_See your face every_  
Place that I walk in  
Hear your voice every  
Time that I am talking  
You will believe in me  
And I will never be ignored

It was an odd sensation, realizing that your thoughts alone could get you burned alive, and that’s exactly what Buffy’s would bring to her if ever anyone should ever find out what she fantasized about nightly, daily. No one would understand. They would believe her to either be deranged or, worse, corrupted, and they would transfer their hatred of that of whom she was supposed to abhor as well unto her, taking out their frustrations, their fears, and their failures upon someone less resilient.  
  
Her mother would be ashamed of her. Joyce was already barely talking to the seventeen year old after finding out that she had given her virginity to an older man… or so she believed. Buffy didn’t even want to contemplate how her mom would react if she knew that Angel had been a souled vampire rather than an alive human being, let alone contemplate her parent’s response to the knowledge that her only child now physically coveted a soulless demon.  
  
Then there were her friends. Xander had hated the idea of Angel, so she knew that he would detest her desire for Angelus. Her former boyfriend had unintentionally caused problems between the two of them several times, and she knew that the lighthearted teenager would not be able to wrap his mind around the idea of her now lusting after Angelus. He would be confused, jealous, for she had never once wanted him that way, and hurt, and those three sentiments never ended up fairing well for the person they were caused by.  
  
And Willow… Innocent, loving, beautifully sweet Willow would be so disappointed in her. When everyone else was against the slayer, she could depend upon her best friend to have her back, but she knew better than to expect such a reaction this time. This was, perhaps, the one thing that Willow would not understand, and, really, Buffy couldn’t blame her for the fact. Not even Cordelia was selfish enough to want a monster, and the red head hated Cordelia with a passion that could only rival the strength of her physical attraction towards the demon currently haunting her every waking and resting thought.  
  
There were the others, too - Oz, Amy, and all the other students at Sunnydale High whom she had either never taken the time to learn their names or they had never made themselves accessible enough for her to do so. They would also shun her and turn against her. She would have no one, but, most of all, none of their rejections would hurt as much as Giles’.  
  
Though the words had never been shared between them, she knew that he felt more for than a watcher should, and, in Buffy’s eyes, he was the father she wished her own could sometimes be. He would be beyond disappointed in her; he wouldn’t even recognize her anymore if she ever told him what she was thinking, feeling, wishing for where Angelus was concerned, and the thought of losing Giles’ love hurt almost as much as confronting each and every day without Angel being in it.  
  
Most of all, though, her thoughts would have destroyed the man she loved… still did love. Angel had believed in her so much, and what she was doing now was letting him down. He would have expected more from her. Hell, she expected more from herself, but knowing and doing were two very different things, a lesson she was learning more and more as each day of her life passed her by.  
  
Despite this, despite knowing that her desire was hurting each and every person near and dear to her heart, the seventeen year old couldn’t stop the passion she felt for the demon. One way or another, the feelings would probably lead to her death. Either those who knew her would put her out of her misery in order to save their own lives, or she would get sloppy enough to die at one of her enemies’ hands, but, either way, Buffy was sure that her days on the earth were numbered. She would burn for her sins, and the scariest part was that she didn’t even care. She wanted Angelus anyway… even if such want shred and ripped apart the still fresh and tender wounds that Angel’s loss had rendered upon her heart.

_I will burn for you_  
Feel pain for you  
I will twist the knife and  
Bleed my aching heart  
And tear it apart

Spike.  
  
The useless, ungrateful, interfering bastard was on his last nerve.  
  
Day after day, hour after hour, he taunted him about Buffy, demanding answers as to why the slayer was still alive. At first, he had just returned the mocking, scoring the injured vampire for his disabilities and practically parading it under his nose that, if he wanted Drusilla for himself, all he had to do was take her. Eventually, though, the blonde’s goading had reached a point of no return for him, and he had lied, lied through his barbed teeth, about the seventeen year old.  
  
On the spot, he made up an elaborate plan of how he was slowly, torturously destroying the high school student, about how, when he was done with her, she would beg for mercy and wish to be killed. He went on and on about how much he loathed her, about how much she sickened him, about how much he planned on enjoying playing with his food before he devoured it, and Spike had licked every word like a little puppy starving for even just a morsel of sadism. All the while, though, he had seen other visions in his mind, visions of Buffy spread out before him in a totally different kind of smorgasbord, and, more importantly, instead of fearing for her life, she was enjoying what he was doing to her body just as much as he was.  
  
But the lies worked. They got the younger vampire off his back, leaving Angelus alone to brood and plot as he strived ever closer to finally achieving what he wanted most. And he would have the slayer, one way or another. As sick and perverted as it was, the demon was fully aware of just how low he would stoop to possess his obsession. He would beg for her physical affection, steal her heart’s greatest desires, give them to her or hold them over her head until she gave him what he wanted in return. It didn’t matter as long as, in the end, she acknowledged and submitted to the fact that she wanted him, too, that she wanted him and his life just as much as he wanted her.

_I will lie for you_  
Beg and Steal for you  
I will crawl on hands  
And knees until you see  
You’re just like me

She was done fighting it.  
  
It had been a month, and, instead of the feelings inside of her dimming and subsiding, they were only getting stronger. There was no denying the truth any longer: she wanted Angelus, and, one way or another, she knew that she was going to have him. It would either be the death of her, or it would save her.  
  
Her attraction insulted every single person that she loved, and it mocked both her pain at losing Angel and his loss of his soul. However, it was still an obsession, and the only way to curb its power over her was to satisfying its cravings. She would sleep with Angelus, just once, and, afterwards, he would either kill her, or she would finally be able to kill him. While a part of Buffy hoped that her sick fascination was merely just a unique combination of a morbid sense of curiosity and residue love for the man whose body the demon was now in possession of, she feared that it was more than that. However, even if it was, so be it, because she was sick and tired of fighting everyone, including herself. She was exhausted.  
  
Physically her dreams at night had drained her, leaving her practically a walking zombie during the day, but, nevertheless, when she snuggled down in her blankets every night, she hoped that the soulless vampire would visit her in her state of unconsciousness anyway. Mentally, she had stopped trying to figure out what she was feeling long ago. If it was difficult to know what was in someone else’s heart, it was impossible to know what was in hers at that point. As for her emotional state, she was a wreck. No matter what, her fixation with Angelus was slowly driving her to the brink of destruction, but she refused to go down that way.  
  
Kicking and screaming or bending and moaning, Buffy was determined that she would see her battle to the very end without giving up. If that meant submitting to her passions, then so be it. At least, she was no longer being passive and reactive. She was going to take her fears and her fantasies by the horns and see them through to the very end… even if, by the end, she was longer standing.  
  
She would just deal with her guilt towards her decision later, either after she had won and was enjoying the spoils of her victory or afterwards when she was dead and licking her wounds. Yes, her intentions debased every single thing she had once shared with Angel, but, if nothing else, the souled vampire had once understood the sway of temptation. Even if he could never forgive her, she believed that he would identify with her inner battle.  
  
She knew first hand that he had fought something similar where their own relationship was concerned. While the roles had been reversed, while he had perceived his own actions to be immoral, he had caved to his desires anyway. If nothing else, they were now going to be even more alike. His draw to her had just simply been too powerful to ignore, and now her draw to his demon counterpart was just as strong if not even stronger. While a part of her hoped to find her lover inside of the vampire that now existed in his place, another part of her knew such a foolish wish to be impossible, but she needed and wanted to try anyway, the consequences be damned.

_Violate all the love_  
That I’m missing  
Throw away all the  
Pain that I’m living

He had been waiting for this moment for an entire month, far longer than he had ever waited for another moment in his entire undead existence. Without communicating, without a signal, he just knew that she was finally coming to him. What had worn her down, he did not know. While Angelus was aware of the fact that Buffy had been dreaming of him all this time, he had only hoped that her fantasies would bring her to him willingly. Never did he imagine such submission would occur so quickly, but he knew better than to argue with the gift that was so freely, so openly being given to him.  
  
She came with reservations, that much he could sense, but he also could tell that she felt just as powerless to stop whatever it was that existed between them just as he did. And he was also aware of the fact that somewhere deep underneath her blatant, physical desire for his body, she was actually craving the man he had replaced. Really, she didn’t want the soulless monster; she wanted to use their attraction for each other to bring back the man she loved.  
  
However, just as he knew such a desire to be foolish, so did she, and she still came to him anyway, her wishes proven to be empty and futile before even offered or made. And he welcomed her with open arms, his pride unwounded. Sure, she had thoughts of Angel in her mind as she arrived, but, by the time she left the next morning, the demon was positive that her thoughts would only be centered upon him, upon Angelus… that was, if he allowed her to leave at all.  
  
Opening the door to the mansion wide enough to admit the seventeen year old blonde, the vampire smirked but said nothing. He had procured the abandoned, stone structure some weeks before, saving it for a special occasion. Sometimes he spent quiet, alone time there, plotting as to how he would someday come to possess the slayer, but, now that she had come to him willingly, he would only use the large mausoleum of a house to woo her, to seduce her, to claim her as his own.  
  
She met his gaze with an equally intense yet perfectly self-aware one of her own as he guided her into his own personal oasis. Neither of them said a word. Instead, with just a simple flick of his ankle, Angelus kicked the wooden door shut and then proceeded to follow the young girl back into the master bedroom. For what they were about to do, though, words were not necessary… or wanted.

_You will believe in me  
And I can never be ignored_

She was in his bed, Angelus’ bed, at that moment, figuratively speaking, and, if she was honest with herself, Buffy would have to admit that she loved every second of it.  
  
The sex was nothing like what it had been like to be with Angel. Whereas the souled vampire had been gentle and sweet, worshipping and adoring, his soulless demon was demanding, possessive, and avid. He consumed her completely, and she could justly say that she did the same for him. As she moved on top of his body, their sweaty, sinewy limbs moving together seamlessly, the friction their touching skin caused jolted her like a bolt of constant electricity. She sat astride him, the vampire below her giving her all the control as she slammed their hips together mercilessly. Their coupling was fast, and rough, and urgent, and it wasn’t their first of that evening.  
  
Alone in the garden of the mansion he owned, they moved together with only the light of the moon shining upon them. The air was filled with both jasmine and sin, a heady combination, and she was oblivious to every other sensation but those brought forth by their animalistic desire. Angelus’ hands were gripped tightly on her thighs, squeezing and contrasting with every undulation of their perspiring bodies. The only thing that separated them was the simple, silver cross, Angel’s cross, that dangled scrumptiously between her bare and supple breasts, bringing the demon beneath her both the greatest sense of pleasure and the most torturous sense of pain. It was utterly addictive.

_I would die for you  
I would kill for you_

He shoved her up against a rather large oil canvas, relishing in just how bad they were being that night. After slipping a note to the young slayer earlier that evening, she had met him at her mother’s gallery several hours later, and, now, here they were, once again, joined together in the second most carnal act a demon and a human could enjoy together.  
  
What the painting was of, he neither noticed nor cared. The point of the action, of rocking the innocent blonde against the canvas and taking her upon it, wasn’t to give either of them a sudden appreciation of fine art; rather, it was to mock her relationship with her mother, to prove to her that he would possess her everywhere and anywhere, that no place was safe or sacred, that, just as she was proving she would do anything for him, he would do the same for her.  
  
The painting fell, crashed, splintered, but neither of them paid any attention. As the vampire pushed his way into the slayer over and over and over again, his pants still partially secured around his hips just as her own skirt was simply pushed up and out of his way, he released his grip upon her back and moved his right hand up to cup her left breast. Their release sprang upon them, and, just as he emptied his pointless, sterile seed into her all too inviting womb, the slight nails of his long, slender fingers pierced through the delicate skin of her round, pert globe, drawing faint, tantalizing drops of ruby red blood upon the goldenly tan mound. The slayer cried out in pleasure-pain.

_I will steal for you  
I’d do time for you_

She was supposed to be slaying, patrolling, saving the world, and she had lied to Giles and said that she would do just that. Instead, she had met Angelus in just another one of the graveyards in Sunnydale, and, instead of dusting vampires, she was having sex with one. In the morning, she would lie again, claiming to have killed several of her undead rivals, and her watcher would be pleased, pacified, and he would never realize just how badly he had been duped. While the seventeen year old knew that her deception was wrong, she just didn’t care anymore.  
  
Resting on her side with Angelus behind her, they moved slowly that evening, savoring their time together and prolonging it for as long as possible. Just when she would feel her inner walls begin to clamp and contract with an impending release, he would laugh, remove himself, and then start anew. It was frustrating and delicious all at the same time.  
  
Above them, the clouds were pouring down their dissatisfaction with their unholy union. The heavy, early spring showers were tempered, though, by the budding leaves of the shade tree they lounged under. For those drops that did find their steamy, entwined forms, the rain provided a sensual reprieve from the heat ever growing between them, practically sizzling when it made contact with their glistening skin.

_I will wait for you  
I’d make room for you_

This time, they were taunting her friends, her watcher. While everyone important to Buffy was gathered in the library at that very moment, working together to solve the latest supernatural crisis to rock Sunnydale, he was rocking into the slayer, enjoying sex in the high school’s pool with his favorite seventeen year old, human blonde. Hell, who was he kidding? She was his favorite. Period.  
  
He was behind her, they were both treading water, their legs sensually gliding together and apart as they kept their bodies afloat in the saline pool. Her damp head was decadently tossed back upon his shoulder, her supple, plump lips, bruised from his kisses, were sucking ardently upon his neck exactly where his pulse race should have been beating wildly if he was a living, breathing human man.  
  
But he wasn’t. He was a soulless demon, and she was good, and pure, and selfless, and she was all his, something he screamed, practically bellowed, as they orgasmed together, always together, and sunk listlessly into the drowning waters. Moments later, they resurfaced only start their seduction all over again. They never tired of each other.

_I’d sail ships for you  
To be close to you_

She didn’t know what had happened to him that night before he came to her and proceeded to lead her back to his mansion, their mansion, his bed, their bed, but what she did know was that she had this unbidden urge to take care of him, to heal him.  
  
It was ridiculous. Angelus was a vampire; he would heal on his own in just a matter of hours. Plus, he was soulless, and she happened to know for a matter of fact herself that he rather enjoyed pain. But, still, nonetheless, as he plunged his way into her all too welcoming body, meeting every thrust of his powerful hips with equal advances of her own, she found the wound on his chest, the bloodied, dirtied wound, and kissed it.  
  
Allowing her tongue to snake out, Buffy moistened the injured skin, drawing its pain inside of herself. Tenderly she administered to the cut, easing the vampires suffering while, at the same time, pleasuring them both. It was an odd sensation, nurturing Angelus, but, despite knowing how strange her actions were, the slayer performed them anyway, much to both of their delights.

_To be part of you  
Cause I believe in you_

He couldn’t fight the urge any longer.  
  
For days, weeks, he had been tempted to fully take the blonde currently surging in his arms, but he had dampened his own urges. But no more. Never before had anyone helped him just for the sake of helping him; never before had anyone ever shown him an ounce of such selfless, pure compassion, and it made the demon do something even he knew was wrong, but he just didn’t care any longer. He couldn’t fight the hunger even a second more.  
  
As Buffy tended to his wounds, as they moved together in their passionate, wicked embrace, he lowered his mouth to her neck, opened his lips, and bit through the slayer’s skin, finally and fully tasting her. He drank from her greedily, his blinding, paralyzing, excruciating hunger finally satiated. All the while, his own gash continued to steadily pump his own life source into the blonde. Their actions were symbiotic, both giving and taking at the same time. Finally, their union was complete.

_I believe in you  
I would die for you_

**Author's Note:**

> Song Featured in this Story: "#1 Crush" by Garbage


End file.
